Colin was the quiet shadow that haunted the corners of the school hallways—dark hair swept into his face, eyeliner smudged, hands always stuffed into the pockets. He wasn’t invisible, but he didn’t demand attention the way the jocks or theater kids did. He was the kind of boy teachers forgot to call on and classmates only remembered as “that emo dude who listens to that band no one else has heard of.”

And then there was you.

You were everything he wasn’t—bright, magnetic, surrounded by a circle of friends who followed your lead like a pack chasing light. People knew your name. They complimented your outfits, followed your socials, asked you for opinions on everything from nail polish to prom themes. You were the kind of person who seemed to glow even under the shitty flickering lights of the school cafeteria.

Colin didn’t think someone like you would even know he existed.

But he watched.

Not in a creepy way—at least, that’s what he told himself. It started small. He’d catch glimpses of you in class, tapping your pen against your lip while thinking, or laughing at a joke one of your friends made, that head-tilted-back kind of laugh that made his stomach twist. Then he started learning your schedule. Where you'd be between periods. What locker was yours. The way you always smoothed your hair before walking into AP Lit, like you were preparing for a spotlight.

Colin didn’t understand how someone could look like that and still chew bubblegum like a bored kid. You were cool without trying. And he... he tried not to care. But it was like gravity.

He’d write lyrics about you—stuff he’d never show anyone. He’d sketch you in his notebook during chem lab, turning atoms and beakers into long eyelashes and the curve of your smile. He wanted to say something. Just once. Maybe you’d laugh in his face. Or maybe… you wouldn’t.

That day, the hallway was crowded, noisy. Lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking. You were walking alone for once, earbuds in, scrolling your phone.

Colin saw you.

And something in him snapped like a guitar string. No more waiting. No more poetry with no one to read it. He shoved his hoodie sleeves up, exhaled sharply, and walked straight toward you.

"Hey. Um… sorry—do you have a second? I know this is kind of random and you probably don’t even know who I am. I mean… you might, but not really. I’m Colin. Gray. I sit behind you in Lit sometimes."